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participated in the trial—prosecutors, lawyers, judge, guards—all seemed to
know each other beyond a professional role. Based upon their conversations
and interactions it was easy to see the personal friendships between some of
them. When the jury was in the room they went through the motions of a
trial. When the jury was out of the room they laughed and talked together in
various parts of the courtroom. Some of them ate lunch together. I wondered
if they were all working together to convict me.
None of the other guards on the walk that morning, at the snitcher gate, or
directing traffic or in their booths were called to testify that they saw me,
Herman, Chester Jackson, or Gilbert Montegut on the walk. None of them
were called to corroborate that they saw any of the state’s witnesses who
claimed to be there.
On the day Brent Miller was killed I was wearing what I wore most days,
blue jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and rubber boots that I needed for my work in
the scullery. At my trial Bill Daniel, who was deputy sheriff in St.
Francisville at the time, testified that he took a green army jacket, blue pants,
and brown lace-up shoes from me, which were entered as evidence.
All the state’s witnesses had me wearing something different. Hezekiah
Brown, who first said he didn’t really remember what I was wearing, testified
I was wearing “penitentiary clothes,” which meant blue shirt and blue pants.
Brown was the only witness who said I had a handkerchief or scarf around
my face. Joseph Richey testified I was wearing a “state-issue blue button-up
shirt and state-issue dungarees” and “no jacket” and “definitely nothing”
covering my face. Paul Fobb, who was legally blind, somehow “saw” that I
was wearing a white T-shirt underneath a button-down state-issue blue shirt,
and “state jeans.” He said that I had no handkerchief covering my face
entering or leaving Pine 1. He, alone, testified that I was wearing a hat over
my Afro.
The spot of blood on the green jacket the deputy said I was wearing that
day was so small it couldn’t be typed. There was a stain of blood on the blue
pants and one on the brown shoes; both stains were so small the crime lab
couldn’t determine if the blood came from a human or an animal.
A handmade knife with several layers of tape as a handle was entered as
the murder weapon. The guard who found the knife under Pine 1 said it was
covered in blood when he found it. A crime lab forensics expert testified that
when the lab received the knife there were fewer than three drops of blood on
it, not enough to type the blood. There was no evidence linking it to Brent
Miller’s murder. I find it strange that there was never enough blood on any of
the items introduced into evidence to tell if it was human or animal blood, or
determine if it was my blood or Brent Miller’s blood or the blood of any of
the other men charged.
A clear, identifiable bloody fingerprint was found on the entrance door to
the Pine 1 dormitory. The state also recovered four simultaneous fingerprints
from the same hand and two partial palm prints. None of those prints
matched me, Herman, Chester Jackson, or Gilbert Montegut. The print also
didn’t match the prisoners who removed Miller’s body or prints of the
investigators. It was never tested against all the prisoners who lived on the
walk, even though the prison had their fingerprints on file.
The three men who testified against me—Brown, Richey, and Fobb—
were moved to better living quarters. Richey and Fobb were moved out of
Angola to the more comfortable jail at the state police barracks. Richey was
even given weekend furloughs and had so much freedom over the years that
he went on to rob three banks while he was in prison, crimes for which he
was convicted. Fobb was given a medical furlough, normally reserved for
prisoners who have less than six months to live, and spent years outside
prison. He was charged with several crimes during this time, including
domestic abuse. Brown was moved to the most comfortable quarters at
Angola, known as the “dog pen,” where the prison’s chase dogs were housed
and trained. In 1986, his life sentence was commuted and he was released.
I had three witnesses testify on my behalf. It took a lot of courage for
these men to come forward because they were immediately moved to harsher,
more restrictive housing after they gave their statements. One of them was
put in the dungeon. The first witness for my defense was Colonel Nyati Bolt,
who lived in my dorm, Hickory 4, and testified that he walked with me and
another inmate named Everett Jackson to the dining hall when the whistle
first blew at seven a.m. He waited with us in line during the kitchen workers’
strike and returned to Hickory 4 with us when we were told to go back to our
dorms. We stayed in the dorm for about 20 minutes or so, he said, until
around 7:35 a.m., when the whistle blew again and we walked back to the
dining hall and ate together. After breakfast, he testified, he left me and
Everett Jackson standing on the walk talking, sometime after eight a.m., and
he went back through the snitcher gate to the boiler room, where he worked.
Under questioning from the prosecutor, Everett Jackson testified he’d
only known me about three weeks. We lived in the same dorm but hadn’t
talked until I questioned him about my writ. “Woodfox and I talked about the
possibility of my filing a writ for him this same morning, so this is the reason
we were together that morning,” he said. He repeated everything Bolt said,
adding that after Bolt left us on the walk after breakfast I walked with him to
the control center, directly across from the dining hall, where he went inside
to the legal aid office for legal papers to give me. It took “eight or ten
minutes,” Jackson said.
When he came down from the legal aid office he handed me the papers
and he went back up to work in the inmate legal aid office.
Prosecutor John Sinquefield asked Everett Jackson about the period of
time between the first and second call-out for breakfast that morning.
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